I was born in Nashville
with a song in my head.
And it took me twenty years
to get a guitar in my hand.
And now that I do,
I just want to sing it for you
like it's never been said to you.
There is nothing else that I know how to do.
I can't stop singing about
all the things I've seen and heard
with my head against her heart.
I couldn't make it work.
So now, I walk the streets at night
to lay beneath her bedroom light.
Hold my breath as she walks by
she asked me to live for her,
but all I offered was to die.
So I pray for an angel on its way
to comb her hair as she washes her face.
I pray for an angel on its way
to tuck her in and keep her safe.
The older you get the more you cry
the more you understand those old folk rhymes
it's got me every evening, just hoping to die.
and so every morning I'll thank God I'm alive.
So, I'll pray for a song on its way
to cure your ills and heal the lame
So, I'll pray for a song on its way
to take shape and replace our shame.